The Proper Way to Make Merry
by Writer Awakened
Summary: Also known as The Story In Which Sain Gets Smashed. After the war's end, Sain and Kent visit a tavern in Caelin to fraternize with some old friends. Rated for bawdy humor and mass inebriation. 2. IN WHICH Kent learns there are other women in the sea.
1. Enter the Drunkards

_The Proper Way to Make Merry_

-

The end of the war on the Dread Isle had brought peace to Elibe, but more importantly, it had brought an almost unceasing celebration to the taverns and inns of the world.

In the small canton of Caelin, on the main road, there was a modest-sized but renowned tavern called the Singing Hawk, known throughout Lycia for its rowdy atmosphere of merriment and wide selection of ales.

It so happened that it was raining relentlessly that evening when Sain and Kent, just returning from foreign shores, made their way into town for a few drinks and a good time. The familiar wooden sign of a hawk (or maybe it was a falcon, no one really cared) perched on a buxom woman's arm (that was why no one cared about the bird) swayed and creaked in the wind. The windows were lit warmly with yellow light, and the sounds of drinking songs and laughter poured outside onto the street, audible even in the storm.

Sopping wet, Sain and Kent stumbled into the alehouse and several men sitting at tables turned to look. At the far end of the room, beside the long wooden bar, a bespectacled young lady with short emerald hair caught sight of Sain and waved, blushing. Sain prided himself on being able to see a lady smile or blush from a league away. Moreso because he knew the lady, and knew her well.

The tavern was crowded to its bursting point, with circular wooden tables covering every free inch of space on the old-looking wooden floor, wooden chairs rammed underneath tables six to a one and burly tough guys' asses rammed into them. It was a world of wood, lit by dim yellow-gold lanterns hanging on the walls and hanging from the ceilings, trapped in clouded glass. The place exploded with laughter and song, curses and insults, and there was not a free inch of walking space, although the five serving girls and one boy somehow managed. Sain noticed three of the girls about carrying trays, all familiar: the green-haired girl, a redhead with two floppy hair-tails and a blue skirt, and a short girl with mussed brown hair, her tray carried high over her head as a giant might carry the world.

There were people of all kinds come to drink and eat at the Singing Hawk: adventurers, ex-knights, sellswords, merchants, libertines, vagrants, and whores. There was even a woman in an Ilian pegasus knight's uniform sitting in the middle of the action. She was guarded closely by a strong-looking man, but nevertheless she had, by Sain's estimation, three wandering hands stuck up her skirt, all in the time it took him to wade to the bar. Sain sighed sadly and Kent followed suit.

Sain sat down in a wooden bar stool and Kent sat to his right, near the end of the bar with two empty seats between him and the far wall of the tavern where a huge fake boar head hung impressively.

"Barkeep!" Sain yelled. There was a conspicuous lack of anyone tending the bar. Behind the counter there were kegs of ale on draught, shelves of various liquor, and mugs, flagons, and tankards enough to serve nearly a hundred, which was, conveniently, about the number of patrons on that rainy night. "Oi, Pierre! Pierre Cold Beef! Are you there?"

"Apparently not," Kent said.

Along with his wife, the man known as Pierre Cold Beef ran the Singing Hawk and tended bar most days. When he had other matters to attend to, his handsome son known as Guillaume the Undressed served the drinks and hollered orders to the cooks tending fires in the back room. Many women came to visit the Singing Hawk for the prospect of finding young Guillaume—a beautiful bachelor—waiting there.

Sain sighed and shrugged. Ale-less, Sain said hello to all the old regulars sitting with him at the bar.

Two seats to his left sat a man the regular patrons called Big Marty, so called because he was so obscenely fat he took up two seats almost entirely. He wore a huge white shirt and all-size breeches.

Beside him was, humorously enough, a paper-thin husk of a man dressed in ivory clothes and a ridiculous gold coat. The man, Bergere, had an absurdly silly little moustache and a mat of glistening black hair. His follies were the stuff of legend.

Next to him was a well-built, rough-and-tumble sellsword with a face like an ass, and a full-moon dome on top to match. Aside from his looks, however, he was more known for being a horse than a donkey. His name was Barnstable Foucheval, but everybody on the face of the earth called him Barns, or sometimes his battle moniker, the "Mad Gelding." In response, he would always proclaim that he had both his balls, but no one listened.

On the far end of the bar, separated from the other regulars by an an oddly quiet peg-legged pirate (whom Sain did not know), sat a timid man name of Chat N. Blackford, who rarely spoke sentences without pausing in the middle, and when he didn't, he stammered. As such, everyone called him "Stammerne," for no apparent reason. His defining feature was that he looked like he was going to die every day. Also, long brown hair.

Somewhere in the back room worked the most famous wench, and incidentally the co-owner of the Singing Hawk, a tall, portly lady with a horny sailor's sense of humor. Pierre Cold Beef's wife was named was Moulin Jar of Jam, and she always wore the same crimson apron (to hide the bloodstains of first-born sons, she said—in truth, to hide marmalade stains) every day. As a matter of course, she had acquired the title "Lady Red." She almost always appeared from the back room when the old regulars were all together and stirred up a bawdy conversation when no one had anything to say. For some bizarre reason, she often walked around with a small stew pot as a helmet, the handle making a half-decent chinstrap. It always reminded Sain of when he used to play at knights as a child. That had sucked, too.

"You live!" Barns said upon noticing the two knights. "Sain, Kent, 'sbeen a while, ain'nit? Good't see ya, mate!"

"Do you really think I would fall so easily? No dragon's fire could lay me or Kent low! We are knights of Caelin!"

Big Marty chortled. "Dragon indeed. If you had faced a dragon, you'd be a fine good roast here on our plates."

Sain grimaced, well aware that Big Marty would have enjoyed _that_ meal.

"Eet ees good zat we could 'ave seen you ay-genn, Senn," Bergere said in his funny accent. He slowly sipped from his flagon of beer. At the very end of the bar, Stammerne politely concurred.

"Well, my friends, I can't tell you all how glad I am that all that business is done with," Sain said. "Fighting in the world's defense is rewarding, but oh so tiring! At last, we have time enough to revel!" Pierre Cold Beef emerged from the back room. "Pierre! Rustle up a tankard, the hero triumphant returns!"

"And his unwitting companion," Kent said, with some small measure of amusement.

"Oh-ho, so it is the Sain!" Pierre said. He was a tall old man, bald and wrinkly, with bold blue eyes and a cheese-wedge nose. His white apron and gray breeches were stained with meat-blood, grease, and ale. "So you have been returned from the war, is it? And the Kent has come with you, is it? It is as well you are well! The Hawk is not as lively as has been without the Sain, no?"

Sain laughed. "As you say! With any of us missing, our merriment is not nearly as gay. Time enough for seriousness and fighting. Now we drink! Pierre, a tankard!"

"I will have a flagon of dark to start with," Kent said.

"As it is, so it will be! I can get you the tankards, I can." Pierre smiled and bowed before setting off to pour drinks. Pierre Cold Beef was well-known through all Lycia for his alacrity in pouring and distributing drinks to those sitting at the long bar, while the servers, taught by Lady Red herself, were known for hasty table service.

"H-how are you…doing, Kent?" Stammerne asked.

"I'm all right," Kent called all the way across the bar.

"Eez zere a reason you are here, Kent?" Bergere asked. His moustache appeared to _move_.

"He's come to drink!" Sain said, all smiles. Pierre Cold Beef slid Kent a tankard of ale and Sain a mug of mead. "There's time enough for duty later, innit? Now it's time to revel. I'll sit there and pour that tankard of ale down his throat if need be, I swear it!"

Kent chuckled. "That won't be necessary," he said, drinking.

"Ah, it's too damnably quiet! A song is what we need!" Sain took a mighty swig of mead and started up a song.

_A roll in the grass with a maiden_

_A roll in the grass with a maiden_

_While her dear father slept_

_And her womanhood wept_

_A roll in the grass with a maiden_

Sain took a mighty drink and slammed down his tankard.

"A woman would weep in the usual sense were she faced with laying you, Sain!" Barns cracked, and the nearby patrons had a good laugh at Sain's expense. Sain stared aimlessly at some imaginary thing in the distance.

The young redhead serving girl in the blue skirt—Tellia was her name—giggled and ruffled Sain's hair from behind as she swept past. She was 18 and very fun, but she kept herself woefully busy bringing drink and meat to all the patrons, as all the servers did. Shortly after, the green-haired girl who waved at Sain emerged from the kitchen with a large tray of mugs and several plates of roast chicken legs. Her name was Ameline, 21, and as usual, she wore a long green skirt and a tight white blouse. Her face was soft and her small glasses fit comfortably over her sea-blue eyes.

"She'd pay _you_ to go away, Barns," Big Marty said, throwing down the rest of his drink. He called for another and chortled. "Life ain't fair to the butt-ugly."

"Spare us your life story, Marty," Barns said, still laughing. "Sain's the prettiest knight who ever did proposition, but his tongue is like dung. God of gods, Sain, when you open your mouth your foot comes out. You're the only man I know who could make an Ostian girl say 'no'."

Everyone at the bar went "Ohhhhh snap!" and most doubled over with laughter. Big Marty laughed so hard that he almost rolled backwards off his seats.

"You jest," Sain said, taking a first swig from a mug of dark ale. "I bet you haven't even seen '_Ostian Girls Are Easy_'! I once saw a theatre troupe from Thria put on a performance to die for!"

Kent took a small sip of his mead. "You told me about that once, was that the time—"

"I swear I must have courted her for weeks without rest!"

"Ehh, what iz zis, now?" Bergere said, sniffling. "Dear Senn, courtanng? Fo-ar weeks? Pearhapps ze sun deed not set zose weeks?"

"Huh, _'Ostian Girls Are Easy'_…t-that's that play…about the nobles, a-and…Ostian women, and…whatnot," Stammerne said after throwing down a gulp of mead.

"Right. The play where the, er, 'lady of pleasure' masquerades as a member of the Ostian aristocracy. Anyway, it was the girl who played the young Baroness Melinde," Sain said, and he drank. "This troupe imagined Melinde's famous green dress as but a simple frock with lace, but this girl was absolutely gorgeous. The simplicity of her garb only made her more irresistible. Her eyes were beautiful emerald orbs, spheres of celestial beauty. She was tan and exotic as a woman of Sacae, with shoulder-length raven hair and innocent pink lips like a kiss from Elimine herself. Whenever she spoke, I thought I was going to melt away. For weeks I went to her and extolled her virtues, but my flattery and simple gestures were fruitless. Then, when I professed my love for her, she merely laughed! I would have done everything to her—er, anything for her."

When Sain finished his story, he found that he had already emptied his mug, so he asked for another.

"Were you actually gonna marry her?" Barns asked.

"I would have birthed her children," Sain said. He sighed and looked wistfully into space. Kent rolled his eyes _so_ hard and everyone else had to contain their laughter.

"Sain would make a wonderful father, wouldn't he?" green-haired Ameline said, seemingly unprovoked. After tossing Barns and Sain chicken legs, she folded her hands over her chest and swayed from side to side, her eyes closed, smiling.

"Fazier of zee undearworld, pearhapps."

"Oh, dear sweet Ameline," Sain said, blowing her a kiss through a big bite of chicken, "if I could, I would hand the sun and the moon to you on a plate of silver!"

"Oh, how romantic…" she said. Giggling, Ameline retreated into the back room. Kent didn't know if Ameline's continued affection for Sain was only good-natured teasing or something genuine, but when it came to Sain, Ameline was almost as bad as Tellia, as far as Kent was concerned. He was clueless as to Sain's level of interest in her, although Kent knew that he had genuinely fallen in love with many other objects of his flirtation. And Sain was equally clueless about generally everything.

"Hey, Sain," Barns said as he tore into some chicken. "Tell us a little bit about the fightin'. What you guys go do, anyway?"

"Aha, so you were waiting to hear me regale you with some of our stories of heroism?"

The sellsword laughed. "Yeah, what you said."

"Why, Kent and I single-handedly cleared out an entire battlefield of those morphs with only a short iron spear and a few rusty swords!"

Kent coughed.

"What the fart's a 'morph'?" Big Marty said, a steak dangling from his mouth.

"Ain't that something you get on yer arse?" Barns asked. Bergere snorted and Kent sighed.

Sain proceeded to tell everyone at the bar some details of their greatest victories of the war, with Kent occasionally disputing the verity of some of Sain's emphatic braggadocio. Over the course of the storytelling, Kent lost count of how many drinks Sain had insisted from Pierre Cold Beef. A lot, though.

When he had finished his last story, Sain took a drink and proceeded to sing "The Lass I Knew" (he would have sung "Jimmy Boy", but he didn't feel like sobbing uncontrollably into his beer.) The others joined in.

_Oh, I knew a lass who had an ass_

_Most glorious and grand  
_

_And oh her lips gave me the nips  
_

_The softest in the land  
_

_And she was there to always share_

_A dance when I was blue_

_But 'twas her chest I liked the best_

_Aye, that's the lass I knew_

While everyone at the bar clapped, Sain downed his tankard of ale in one long chug, belched, then hiccuped.

"Now that was well done, in all regards!" Barns said, laughing hysterically, slapping his knee. He let loose a rip-roaring belch of his own and Bergere jumped nearly a foot into the air. His moustache moved again.

"Don't let Lady Red hear you singing that tune, mate," Big Marty said as he ate. "She might be to gettin' some ideas!"

Sain threw his head back and threw most of his ale away trying to throw it down his throat. He drenched his face and his hair and laughed raucously along with the others, slamming down his mug and yelling something unintelligible that was presumably a request for another tankard.

Kent whispered "uh oh" into his beer.

"I wish…I could get Am…to flirt with me…," Stammerne said.

Barns chuckled. "And I wish someone would walk up and give me ten thousand fat, but that ain't happening."

"Don't call me fat," Big Marty protested.

"I didn't."

"Oh, okay. That's what's up?"

"That's what's up," Barns agreed. He called for a mug of the strongest ale they had on tap, Dragon Red Fire.

"Oh, scoff! Barns, you didn't just order a mug of Dragon Red Fire, did you?" Sain said, incredulous, hanging onto his mug of mead for dear life. He hiccupped. "Have you no shame, soldier? _Thou shalt burn_! Hahahaaaaaah!"

"Nope. I just want to get TANKED tonight, boys!" Barns yelled, and the bar patrons (as well as a few rowdy bunches sitting at tables) hooted wildly. "But oh by gosh by golly I do wish Am would at least tease me a little."

"N-n-n-n-n-n-noo," Sain said. Now he started to sway from side to side, his head shaking around like an indignant rag doll covered in crude oil. Beside him, Kent slapped his face with his palm. "Ameline is _my_ precious bubble bath diamond…we are flirtonlies, which means we flirt only…and only flirt _us_…not yous." He laughed.

"I'd settle for Tellia, then," Barns said, shoulders shrunk. "At least let her get my hopes up."

From the kitchens, a young female voice yelled, "I heard that! 'Settle' my arse!" and Barnstable Foucheval shut up but good.

The one male employed to serve at the Singing Hawk pushed his way out of the back room, carrying a huge plate of roasted chicken legs. He was a short, quiet fellow with short, messy brown hair, and somehow managed to drop something every day Sain had stopped in.

The door to the back room was right near Stammerne's seat, so when the boy emerged with the food, Stammerne said, "H—How…are you, Roderickson?"

"Pleeeeease don't talk to me right now," Roderickson whined, balancing the plate carefully. He shuffled away from the bar with all haste, as though moving quickly would keep the ghosts of tray-dropping away from him.

"Hey Senn," Bergere said as he started on a new mug of mead. "Deed you breeng any drinkeeng songs back from ze war?"

"Aah, but I respectfully regret to say that there were no places to goooo…" Sain replied, gnawing at the last bit of meat on his chicken leg. "No alehouses on the Dread Isle, alas! And the folk in the Bernese pubs were mostmostmostmostmost unwelcoming."

From the back room came Tellia, striding over to where the two knights sat, her red hair-tails bouncing as she moved. She exhaled deeply and laid a hand on each of their shoulders. Sain and Kent turned to see her smiling, and Sain quickly stole a look at her small, bare stomach and the sweat glistening there. The rest of the men at the bar turned to look as well.

"You having yourselves a right good time, gentlemen?" she said. She blew Kent a kiss; Kent cleared his throat and looked away, embarrassed.

"Ah, Tellia!" Sain said in-between gulps of mead. "Al…always the prac-tished coquette, are ye, heh!"

Where Ameline was jovial, polite, and quiet, Tellia was loud, rowdy, and a notorious tease. No one could come and go from the bar without giving or receiving (usually receiving) a bawdy joke or suggestive turn of phrase. Ameline was always the object of the patrons' admiration, but ask almost any of the men who they'd want around on a quiet night, and their first choice was always Tellia. Her soft face lightly freckled and her short, slender legs acted the bait; her quick wit was the reel.

"Finally I get a break from all these damn orders. Whew." Tellia wiped her brow.

"Tellia. How eez eet behind ze walls een the kitch-an?" Bergere asked.

"Not bad. Lady Red's in a really good mood. But outside the kitchen? The crabs are really pinchin' today," Tellia said with a smirk, leaning on the knights' shoulders. She wiggled her behind and shook out her short skirt. "And no, not the crabs you're thinking of, Big Marty, nor is it what Barns and Sain are thinking. It's easy to get nipped in the big sea, innit?"

Big Marty was rubbing his stomach and Barns and Sain were looking downward.

"Doesn't that bother you, truly?" Kent said. "Day after day, having people grab at you like that…it must be unbearable."

"Not really. I'm well armed. My arse is like steel, and my womanhood has teeth. I think I'm all right," Tellia said. She grinned wildly and the men all laughed. "Honestly, all the pinching is almost like getting tickled. And I _lo-ove_ being tickled…"

"Well," Sain said, ramming his mug on the bar, "m'dear Tellia, on my honor as a knight's knight, knighted in the knight's court of Caelin, sworn to serve…m'lady…of Caelin…of the realm…my lady…my lady, name of…of…uh…" Kent sighed at Sain's apparent inability to remember Lady Lyndis' name— "you point out to me these men who have been so rudely attacking your cute little bottom, and I'll set them three days straight from next moonday week time. Day. I'll teach themsh gooses cooked to treat a fair damsel like that."

That wasn't merely the alcohol speaking, Kent knew. If Sain did find the gropers, he'd be ready with steel and more than a few indignant words. For all his peccadilloes, Sain was an exceedingly honorable man. Briefly, Kent wondered if Sain was right about him, if he was indeed too reserved for his own good. But Kent would sooner shoot himself in the big toe with a crossbow than admit that _Sain_ was right to his face. Hells no. Kent took a swig of drink.

Tellia chuckled and began to sing.

_Cut off his head, cut off his head_

_Carry his arse and throw him in bed_

_If he starts to whinin' and needs to be dead_

(now Tellia started laughing) _Cut off his __**head**__, cut off his __**head**__!_

All the men at the bar, even the peg-legged pirate, laughed uproariously.

"W-what a fate," Tellia said, wiping the joy-tears from her eyes, trying to rein in her laughter. "Which of the two heads would an honorable man least want to have cut off? Some men just can't live without their head."

"You always haff the best shongs!" Sain blurted, chortling loudest of all. He swung his tankard merrily, either too drunk or too naive (both?) to understand what the song really meant, or that Tellia had directed her bawdy song at him.

"Where'd y'learn that, Tellia, m'dear?" Barns asked through a gulp of drink. She glared at him briefly for the "m'dear."

"Don't ch' know?" Tellia said, rustling the two knights' shoulders. "That's a woman's drinking song."

"B-but I thought…women didn't…have drink…ing songs," Stammerne said.

"I have a million and a score of them, gentlemen, but I don't have the time. A few gold might buy you another verse, and a few gold yet more might buy you a bit _extra_." Tellia winked. "But for now, I must be returnin' to the back room, or Madame Jamjars might have _my_ head!"

As soon as she had come, Tellia disappeared into the back room, and for a moment, everyone at the bar was silent.

Then Sain hiccupped.

"Oh, how I adore Tellia, so fun. _Sooooooo funnnn_…"

"And what about Ameline?" Barns asked.

"And her as well, oh, oh! They are all lovely, lovely loveliness, beauteous beauty, oh! _I could not choose between them_, oh no I could not!" Sain finished the rest of his drink and burst out laughing. "But now a song, oh a song, and—and you shall all like this one, mates, I assure you."

Sain broke into song.

_In the inns of Bern they sang their songs_

_Them cold and dull and sad_

_But then one day they saw the face_

(Now everyone sitting at the bar joined in, and even Moulin Jar of Jam and Pierre Cold Beef behind the counter joined in.)

_Of the young Aqulean lad_

_Oh, he sang of glees and sang of seas_

_And sang of women young_

_And he told the inn and those within_

_ Of the many gifts he'd brung_

(Now several people sitting at tables joined the singing)

_He brought a flute and brought a lute_

_To sing an Ostian tune_

_And he brought a lyre soaked in fire_

_To strum the hymns 'till noon_

_Oh he brought a horse for every arse_

_And a cask of ale to share_

_And his lady lass smelled of sassafras_

_And they drank without a care_

(The entire tavern now united in song so loudly the walls seemed to shake)

_The Aqulean lad said please be glad_

_While listening to my tale_

_For I've traveled a while and with a smile_

_I'll share a story of ale_

_In Nabata they raise the praise_

_For the "water of the sand"_

_And you'll never find a sweeter wine_

_Than one from the desert land_

_And finer yet, lest we forget_

_What they serve in old Pherae_

_For you'll seldom hear of a better beer_

_Or so the drinkers say_

_And the sweetest tongues are found among_

_Etruscan tavern-keeps_

_For they serve a mead that's fine indeed_

_A mead they drink in heaps_

_And if you desire a drink afire_

_The Sacaens do you right_

_For they singe a liquor so much thicker_

_That it burns throughout the night_

_And the strongest stuff that tests you rough_

_Is the Ilian women's treat_

_For it's the worthiest man who can withstand_

_An Ilian woman's teat_

_Now the Aqulean lad said don't be sad_

_If you cannot travel about_

_For in my pack is a generous sack_

_Of liquor lean and stout_

_And I'll lift your spirits with hearty spirits_

_They'll never treat you bad_

_And I but request that you sing the best_

(The tavern rose and bellowed)

_Of the young Aqulean lad!!!_

The tavern exploded with cheers, men and women alike clinked glasses and celebrated as loudly and honestly as they did when the war ended and once everyone had returned to their seats and their drinks, the mood in the tavern had escaped the rain and darkness outside and moved to a sunnier place.

"Zat was breeleeant, Senn," Bergere said, clapping.

"Oh isn't it? But I want to tell you all a story about my city," Sain said, spilling his ale while trying to drink. "Oh, I want to tell you about my town. Oh, down by the waterrr…"

Everyone drank and listened as Sain sung "The Ode to Ol' Caelin".

"I want to sleep in a city that doesn't wake up," Sain sung, his mug swinging back and forth in time with the music. "If you can do it there, you can do it aaaaanywhere—"

"I'd do it anywhere," Big Marty joked. "In the back room, under a tree, in an outhouse—"

Kent looked around. Bergere looked so happy he could burst, Barns looked so drunk he could burst, Stammerne looked so confused he could burst, and Big Marty just looked like he was going to burst.

"Iiiiiit's up to youuu, Cae-lin…**CAE-LIIIIIIIIIIN**!" Sain finished, holding the last note for about a full thirty seconds.

"Uh oh," Kent said.

One second later, Sain passed out and Big Marty belched.

Kent slapped his forehead. Someone was going to have to lug drunken, unconscious Sain out of the bloody bar. And of course, it was probably going to be him. As usual.

_Oh joy. This will be a _barrel _of fun..._


	2. Kent has a Girrrrrlfriennnnnd

_~2. Kent Has a Girrrrrl-friennnnnd~_

-

Sain woke up in a bed somewhere, his head pounding. The morning sun pouring through the room's only window made his head throb harder. He was still dressed in his clothes from the day before. His tunic smelled of drink.

Sain groaned. "Where am I?"

In the corner of the room, Kent rose from his chair and sighed. "In the Snoring Lamb," he said. "I set you up with a room here."

"A room?" Sain said. The Snoring Lamb was a nice inn on the main road, not far from the Singing Hawk. It was quite a bit nicer than the inn down the way, The Evil Apple Tree (which, Sain had been informed, was a terrible pun in another language), the run-down, squat wooden building notorious for playing host to innumerable midnight liaisons. Sain sat up and clutched his head. "What on Elibe happened last night?"

"You made a bit too much merry," Kent said, pacing. "Perhaps a lot too much merry."

Sain scoffed. "Nonsense! You can never revel enough! It's impossible."

"Sain, do you even remember how many mugs of mead and ale you drank?"

"Uh…why, no! In fact, I barely remember anything other than it was a jolly time. Ohh, my poor head throbs. I really need some willow bark remedy." Sain lay back.

"I figured you would, so I spoke with Martelen," Kent said rather grimly. He pulled out a small phial from inside his doublet. "He says he keeps a small supply of salicyl just for you, my friend. It's good to have an apothecary in your back pocket, especially when there's such a reckless lout as you running about the realm."

"What a man! Martelen, I mean, not the lout fellow. As herbalists come, Martelen is the best! None better in all Lycia. Uuurr, my head. Ahh, I owe that man about ten times over. Oh, god of gods, how I love Caelin!"

"I'm well aware of how much you love Caelin, Sain," Kent said. He rolled his eyes.

"Ah, but you are a godsend, Kent, bringing this to me. Thank you, my friend! Surely there are none in the world more honorable than—_Kent!_ _Where in the ten bloody hells is that damnable draught_?"

Kent handed Sain the bottle, and after a bit of fumbling, the hung-over cavalier eventually drank the remedy and coughed.

"Ugh, why does it have to be so bitter? Never mind that." Sain lay back and closed his eyes. "Kent, when I awake, remind me I have a kindness to repay."

"I'll be sure to tell Martelen."

"No, no, not to him, Kent. My friend, when we go drinking tonight, everything will be on my coin. Think of it as my apologies for putting you through these trials."

Kent sighed and shrugged. "I can hardly wait." Recently, Kent had found a well-timed sarcastic jab was very satisfying to deliver, and considerably more intoxicating than just rebuking Sain, which never worked. Not quite as intoxicating as ale, though.

"What have you been doing this whole morning, anyway?" Sain asked. "Did you stand vigil at my door the whole time?"

"Afternoon," Kent corrected. "It's early afternoon. And for the love of the good Saint, I most certainly did _not_ watch over you. I was ride to the castle for a few sword drills and some lifting."

Sain groaned. "You just got back from that miserable war and you're already back at the sword drills?" he said, stupefied. "Before she departed, Lady Lyndis gave us a week's leave from all our duties to clear our heads. And I'm sure the castellan would uphold her wishes."

"You _cleared your head_ enough last night."

"And you've _taken leave_ of your _senses_, mate," Sain said. He chuckled and immediately grimaced in pain, clenching his head.

"No, trust me, I'm most sane. Actually, _you_ are Sain, and I'm not—thankfully. I couldn't live up to such a high standard."

"You wound me."

"Thank the Saint."

"O thank you, Elimine," Sain said, and laughed. His head throbbed again, but he didn't much mind. "You're in surprisingly good spirits today. Maybe I'll go riding…if my head stops hurting. See if any women want to go riding with me…ladies adore horses, you know…especially ponies. Really, who _doesn't_ like ponies? I like ponies. What'll _you_ do, Kent?"

"Me?" Kent stood. "I'm going to the Soaring Hawk. 'Bye."

"Now?" Sain's jaw dropped as Kent turned sharply on his heels and left the room.

-

The tavern was mostly empty when Kent walked in. Several of the more notorious drunkards in town—Sir Bobber Adams, Michel Lafrancoise Fontaine, Holland the Flea-bitten, and some guy Kent knew only as 'The Spoon'—sat at tables, and the peg-legged pirate from before sat at the bar. Otherwise the pub was empty but for the owners and servers, although of the servers only Roderickson and Tellia were around, wiping down tables with grayed rags.

"Well, if it isn't Kent!" Tellia said, noticing him. To his chagrin, she strode surprisingly quickly towards him as he walked to the bar, her two floppy red hair-tails bouncing merrily near her ears.

"Good morning, Tellia," he said politely. "You're here early."

"I could say the same for you," she said, grinning. Her blouse was not tied above her waist and her stomach wasn't exposed as it had been the night before, but the red skirt she wore to match her hair seemed even shorter than the blue one. "It's a mite early to be getting right sledgehammered, innit? Or is there another reason you're here?"

Tellia laughed ominously and winked at Kent, who felt himself get hot around the neck and in his ears. She looped an arm in his and clung onto him with a 'possessive paramour' look in her eyes.

_I'm a man. But blast it, I'm blushing like a maid. Figures Tellia had to be here so early._

"Ah, no, that's not the reason I'm here," Kent said. _Why am I here? What could I tell her? _"I'm actually here because" _Think, damn it, think! _"well, there really isn't much time to, ah, socialize with everyone here." _Go, go, think—_ "When everything's full up, there's so much noise it's hard to hear yourself think, and I haven't been here much of late, so I wanted to sit and, um—"

Tellia pinched his ear hard and he said "Ow."

"Pelinne is working in the kitchen," Tellia said, and her smile was so wide it might have burned comfortably into her freckled face.

_How did she—?_

"Don't lie again or you get hurt," she said, giggled, and pinched Kent's ear again. She released his arm and walked away, returning to scrubbing down the round tables with her cleaning rag.

Kent considered blurting, "This is not about romance," but he didn't want to get pinched again, so he kept his big fat mouth shut, deciding discretion was most definitely the better part of valor in this case. Annoyed, and still red in the ears, Kent waded through the sea of tables and took a seat at the bar. Through the open door, he could see Pierre Cold Beef hunched over a flaming hearth-oven in the kitchens.

Kent didn't like to lie—although he felt little guilt lying to Tellia, mostly because she could see right through him anyway—but the real reason he came embarrassed him to say.

_I'm a grown man, twenty-two. All I need to do is speak to her. Just talk. So why do I feel like this whenever I come here? I don't—damn…_

It wasn't even that he was _in love_ with Pelinne, honestly, though if given a truth potion he would admit that he fancied her. But first he would have admitted that he had fallen for Lady Lyndis, and quite violently. It was not even much of a secret. One day long ago, a very inebriated Sain had _loudly_ announced to the bar Kent's infatuation with the lady of Caelin. But after the war, Lyn had wed Lord Hector of Ostia, and after ceding rule of Caelin, she had moved into Ostia Keep with Hector.

Now the kindly old castellan watched over Castle Caelin, and while Kent would readily admit that he was an exceedingly good man, he did not catch Kent's fancy quite like Lady Lyndis had. Kent had sworn to himself he would not think about Lyn to save himself the heartbreak, and the patrons and workers at the bar rarely mentioned her around him out of respect, but somehow Kent's thoughts always returned to the lady love who stole his heart.

Kent waited at the bar, alone and in silence. Occasionally Tellia teased Roderickson in the background, and Roderickson's awkward replies set her off in peals of laughter. After some time—Kent could not say how long, although it was no more than an hour—a small brown-haired girl appeared from the kitchen. Upon seeing her, Kent stood and called her name.

"Kent!" Pelinne said, sitting down beside him at the bar. "You're here early."

"Yes, well, I—came to see if you were here," Kent said, afraid that Tellia was lurking around to sniff out any lies. "I've nothing else to do at the moment, and I wanted to see you."

"I'm glad you're here," Pelinne replied. She straightened out her long black skirt and exhaled. "I was starting to tire of tending to the kitchen, to be honest."

"I see. I didn't see you last night when I came here with Sain. Were you in the kitchen then?"

"Um, no, actually," Pelinne said. She looked away and Kent had the perfect view of her in profile. Her slightly-curly hair neatly framed the side of her face; in-between, she had blue-green eyes with a soft face and soft lips. "I had something I needed to do."

"Oh." Kent turned away and cleared his throat. "So, are you well today?"

"As well as I can be, I guess," the barmaid replied, strumming on the wooden bar counter with her short white nails. Kent caught a glimpse of the silver bracelet around her wrist. "A few gold more and I'll have enough to buy the dress I've wanted. I just hope the tailor hasn't sold it yet. I told him to hold it aside for me."

"When do you get your wages?" Kent asked.

Pelinne kicked at the bar counter idly and sighed. "Pierre said he'd pay us all in three days. But I do wish he would be on time this time. Sometimes he forgets our wages entirely and Tellia has to slap some sense into him."

Kent laughed. "That does sound like something she would do."

"Ugh, sometimes I wish I were a knight like you. Get paid a nice stipend for your service, the lords provide food and a nice home, you get to live a comfortable life..."

"Sometimes too comfortable," Kent said, wondering if Sain's headache had stopped taking a sledgehammer to his head yet. "Plus, you'd have to be a skilled swordsman, else adept with a spear or glaive."

"Oh, that's okay. I think it'd be brilliant to learn swordsmanship." Pelinne smirked and pretended to swing a sword around. "Then I'd be able to protect myself as well."

Kent laughed. "Maybe you should!"

"Hey, can you teach me?"

"W-What?" Kent sputtered. Pelinne was staring at him, waiting quite literally on the edge of her seat for Kent's answer. Kent, meanwhile, had been struck dumb.

_Does she really want me to teach her swordsmanship?_

"If it's too much trouble, you don't have to."

"Ahh—no, no, that's not it! Simply…" _You shouldn't want to be a knight. It will strangle you from the inside out. _"It's very difficult for anyone to train for the knighthood after they've come of age. Most young boys become squires at three-and-ten, and females are never chosen unless they show extraordinary, ah—"

"I don't want to be a knight, Kent!" Pelinne said. "Just a swordswoman. Maybe I'll learn how to be like a swordmistress from the East."

"I see." _I guess I could…then we could be close…_

"It would be less boring than cleaning the kitchen and serving sweaty men in greasy tunics lamb and ale every night, would it not?"

Kent laughed again. "Right, right, 'twould indeed. Ah…could we start your sword training some other time…soon? I don't think I can right now."

"Oh," Pelinne said. She looked disappointed. "Very well, then. I want to be able to wear that new dress I'm going to get, anyway. It wouldn't be right for someone training at swords to be wearing a dress!"

They conversed for a while longer, until Pierre Cold Beef came out from the back room and ordered Pelinne to return to work, wherein she and Roderickson resigned themselves to the kitchens for lamb-cooking and chicken-roasting duty.

Kent was wading through the sea of tables, about to leave, when Tellia opened her mouth and the fun began.

"So…tell me you're going to go do something with her," she said. She sat on one of the tables, swinging her legs back and forth, that devil-devouring grin of hers still loitering around her face in the general vicinity of her chin.

"Why are you asking?"

"I'm not asking, I'm ordering. You're going to go out with her, right?"

"Well…no! I mean, maybe sometime—no, we are not, n-not at the moment."

Not physically capable of leaving well enough alone, Tellia asked, "Why not?"

"I—because—well, what difference does that make to you anyway?" Kent could feel himself starting to sweat. He saw the diabolic glint in her eyes and knew it was time to be afraid, very afraid.

"All right, mate, let me try to spell this out for you." Tellia hopped off the table and walked up to Kent. "You. Like. Her."

Kent paused and Tellia's hand wandered frighteningly close to his left earlobe. He gulped. "She is—a good person, yes. Yes. And?"

"And she fancies you."

"She…fancies me? Really?"

Tellia rolled her eyes and facepalmed. "Since when have I ever lied to you? Don't answer that. Anyway, she thinks you're handsome." Giggle. "It's so cute watching the romantic attractions of youth, innit?"

"Tellia, you're at least three years younger than Pelinne is."

"Bloody hell, Kent! Are you so intent on ruining my fun? C'mon!" She punched him in the shoulder. He was glad that it wasn't his ear again. "Pelinne should be working tonight. Buy her a drink when you see her. Tell her I'll cover for her while she takes a break."

Kent fidgeted. Tellia's insistence on giving him advice on his love life annoyed him, but for whatever reason (dark sorcery, humanistic obligation, or sheer morbid curiosity), he couldn't help but listen. Pelinne thought him handsome. Kent had always assumed she already had a beau, given everything she was: cute, smart, witty, dedicated, and energetic. Pelinne fancied him. Part of him felt ecstatic, but whenever he did, he felt a hollow, descending feeling in his stomach, tumbling and bottoming out, eating away at him like Abaddon. It reminded Kent of guilt. He finally found words enough to answer Tellia.

"I suppose I can."

"'You suppose' my arse!" scoffed Tellia, temporarily taking on the accent of an eccentric, drunken pirate (not to be confused with the peg-legged pirate at the bar, mind you). "You'll either win her heart, or you won't, but you _are_ gonna show her a good time either way, lad, or I'll spank you silly, savvy?"

Kent blushed.

"Just don't get her too jackhammered, wot? It's not right to take advantage of somebody on the first date." Tellia ran her fingers under Kent's chin, and he felt it extremely hard not to get a rise out of her playful teasing.

"I-I wouldn't do anything like that," insisted Kent.

"I know," Tellia said, nodding. "But don't worry," she added, moving close to Kent's ear and whispering, "after a few dates, if you want to do something naughty with her…I don't think she'll say no."

_Ah…_

The redhead returned to the kitchen, giggling and humming all the while, and Kent meandered out of the Soaring Hawk, needing an ice-cold bath or maybe a set of earplugs.

-

_I loved Lady Lyndis for so long, and now to start seeing Pelinne...am I just like Sain? Jumping from woman to woman?_

Kent spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around Caelin castle town, browsing the stores, all the while consumed by his thoughts. When night fell, he returned to the Snoring Lamb and retired to his room. When he did, he was surprised to find Sain there, reading a book in a chair.

"Kent!" he said upon seeing his red-haired friend enter.

"This is my room, Sain. What are you doing in here?"

"You're not honestly planning to go to sleep now, are you? The drinks are on me today, remember? Or are you too manly to accept charity?"

Kent shook his head and sighed. "Honestly, I didn't even remember that you had said that. I just…don't know if I much want to go drinking tonight."

"Now this is quite unusual," Sain said, closing his book. On closer inspection, Kent noticed the title: _Famous Love Poems of the 7th Century_. Sain set his book of poetry down on a table and said, "Despite all your reservations, not even you refuse a night of merrymaking. Egad, have you come down with some wretched ail or some other such thing? Or did you really just go to the tavern this morning to get abominably drunk without the gift of my company?"

"That's not it at all," Kent said. "It's simply that…Pelinne will be there."

Sain gave him a puzzled look. "I thought you fancied Pelinne!"

_In Elimine's name, does _everybody _know? _Kent thought. _Am I _that _damnably transparent?_

"That's not the problem," said Kent, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Then what is? Are you still pining for Lady Lyndis?"

Kent shot his friend a sideways glance, but said nothing.

"You can't go on worrying like this forever, mate!" said Sain, gesturing wildly with his hands, as though acting out a puppet show romance without the puppets or the strings or the romance. "Do not get me wrong, it was admirable for you to have courted Lady Lyndis so honorably, but sometimes the Ladies Fate intervene, often cruelly. You must soldier on! That's not such a terrible thing! It's not terrible at all, really."

_Maybe I should see Pelinne. I want to, but…_

"I suppose you are right," Kent conceded presently. He sat with his head on his fist, like the Thinker thinking up a storm.

"After all, Kent, as they say, 'there are other women in the sea!'"

"Sain, I believe the idiom is 'there are other _fish_ in the sea'."

Sain looked utterly disgusted. Mortified, in fact. "Mate, you can't have a romantic relationship with a _fish_! _Maybe_ a mermaid, but—"

Kent facepalmed.

"Anyway, it won't do you any good just sitting around moping!" Sain insisted, slapping his boon companion hard on the shoulder. Kent mumbled "Ow." "How many times have I told you that?" asked Sain.

"Too damnably many."

"And yet you never listen! Never! Ever since we got back from the war—no, longer than that—you've been playing the jilted lover! Release yourself! You should really listen to your elders, Kent."

Kent sighed. "By one year, Sain. You are my elder by _one _bloody year."

Sain scoffed. How Kent could obsess so maddeningly and unhealthily over a single woman befuddled Sain beyond explanation. "Well, as Baron Charles Richards Berra says at the end of _Ostian Girls are Easy_, in that brilliant soliloquy of his, 'O, 'tis a far, far more amicable place that we go to than we have ever been before; 'tis a far, far brighter future than I have ever had…in the past'…or some such thing."

That was not even close to being the correct line from that particular play, but Kent had neither the strength nor the desire to correct him.

"Anyway, let's go for some ale. Well, shall we go?" said Sain.

"Yes, let's go."

Neither of them moved.

"…Well, who the hell are you waiting for, Vladimir?" Sain asked, laughing. "Someone to hang you by your belt or your bootstraps? I'm not going out that door before you. Be gone with you!"

"You fail to make _any_ semblance of sense whatsoever even when sober, Sain," Kent replied, and then they left.


End file.
